it is not so much the differences that separate but the destitute of ever knowing acceptance. I wish I understood why the safe choices in life never seemed to be choices I could sustain and why they did not seem to fit nor apply

and I so do wish, as I often have so desperately at times wished it so —to be the kind of someone that could 

have I wished for too, for that rare unknown; to be fully understood and utterly accepted at least by one such someone and this clause does hang the balance as it is not possible to occupy a life unwilling to be faithful to this essential truth.... clearly, dictionary, it does seem this life’s lesson~to endeavor to learn to relinquish the need, with it all needs and accept with grace to aspire to find the power in order to do so 

The noir call scene continued ....

 

“How did Willem know about what number to call?” I force out the question fast not wanting to be intimidated and hoping to get some answers now 

“How did Willem know....?” Jörn repeats 

“How is he involved?” I ask

“Duva....” but here in just two syllables I hear it —Jörn’s voice changes —it is in the silence that I hear it somehow, I don’t know how but it seems I ....feel....hear....like I can hear his thoughts somehow—without uttering a sound but it is there and there—again even in the subtle way he clears his throat as if to stall, too, for thought ....yes, and even though I know I hear it— I ignore it.... don’t trust it or somehow ....it is just doubt 

and then he says,

“‘how is he involved’—duva, ask yourself....” 

and it is there again ....in his silence 

He sighs,

“he is here if you would like to ask him.....”

And I hear Willem’s voice in the background say something 

“He’s there? where are you exactly?” I ask

But now it is Willem who I hear,

“hi, old friend,” he says in his heavy Dutch accent, “it’s Wil, glad you called the number —we were starting to worry.”

“Can you tell me what is going on?” I ask him

“They want the code, what do you think?” Willem says simply 

“The guy in the ski mask?”

“You mean one of the guys,” Willem corrects me, “they are still there. They’ve surrounded the house. They’ve been watching. They had been watching you for days so ....they knew that you were there ....maybe they think you are hiding somewhere if not in the barn-house maybe in one of the other buildings. We’ve seen from the cameras. They have been camping there for days. These people don’t give up when they know they are on to something,” he says.

“On to something?” I ask, “you mean on to me?—is that what you mean?”

“You have the code. They know that.”

“How do they know that?” I ask, “I didn’t know I had the code— not really! I don’t understand how they could know that—I mean until recently I .... but I don’t know it! I swear, I don’t know! But —if they believe I know it—Willem, what will they do?”

“Don’t ask that question, I don’t think you want to know how they get this stuff out of people— we won’t let it happen, ja? ....but until one of us can get there you are safe where you are— there is no record of the underground base—nobody would know its existence — which is why it is important you stay there. Not that you could leave in that snow storm.”

—Snow storm? What is happening on the surface?—

“Until one if you gets here?” I ask, “where are you guys? You said in your email that Jörn has been detained—what did you mean ‘detained’?”

“It’s to do with —some government policies ....they don’t approve of some —well, certain things; you know red tape and so ....”

“Is that why he hasn’t tried to call or reach me?”

“If they knew he was in touch with you they .... he is trying to protect you —but they would go after you too, which is why he wants them to think things have ended with you —they took his mobile to check for your calls —“

“To check for —my— calls? They? Who is they? This is who—government? Whose?  or —who are we talking about? —you can’t tell me they think I’m involved in international espionage or —Willem— are you both being held in some kind of governmental custody or whatever they call it? I mean—and if Jörn hasn’t got his phone, how is he watching the cameras?”

Willem laughs,

“you really have no idea about his work, do you? You want to know what is going on. I don’t blame you as you are somewhat now at the center of things .... look, what you need to know is—this goes back to a long time ago—I mean years ago....”

“You mean when I first met you in The Hague....?”

“I mean the Cold War. Your father— well, one of them—well , actually, both....”

“Both....” I repeat in a daze as something he said triggers something else in my memory,

“Willem— when we first met I was still in high school but you seemed to know details unrelated to any of this; things about me and my family, my grandfather.... why?”

“mijn oude vriend, who do you think hired me to protect you?” 

the scene continues/the phone call

“You can fucking lead a horse to water but you can’t make him think— skit! Duva! Herregud! are you that fucking obtuse?”

Jörn!

... I was really expecting Willem  

so, for a drunk-ish moment I am misfiring 

I have to say out loud,

“Jörn?” into the phone 

 just to be sure as .... it’s been awhile ....since ....I have actually heard —much— from him 

as if at all, but who’s keeping track? 

“I thought you were Willem,” I say .... because I am not prepared for ....Jörn —and stall for words of what to even say 

I sink into the desk seat still feeling the affects of that proof .... and have to unzip my hoodie feeling suddenly feverish .... sorry now for my cloudy ability to ....

“I see you’ve found the vodka,” I hear him say, and so it is his voice into my ear that seems to bewilder the senses with its distinct, dry potency 

much like slow-mo, I look up at the cameras and realize I’m under his microscope 

more tunnel vision (e.d.&jmChr)

 

It seems the tunnels go like the arms of an octopus with the distillery catacombs as its center, and as I look at the first diagram in Jörn’s email, at this odd underground labyrinth it seems to be much more then just some prohibitionist’s wild idea

and because I’m too dizzy with hunger to really have the mental ability to figure this all out just now, I search instead for which of the octopus arms is where I might find some kind of bunker’s rations ..... 

of all ironies it turns out the hidden latch to that one is located right under the stairs where I have been sleeping.... and as I search for the opening and latch I find it, just at shoulder level for me, feel the metal ring hidden in the molded curve of the under part of the step and —when it’s pulled it reveals ..... yet another staircase.... down

All pristine white; like descending through the gates of heaven from a dungeon 

And then it is like entering a kind of warehouse but the walls are concave, like a tunnel but wide, wide enough to ....fit golf carts ..... because I see one down here parked in a far corner and —it looks suspiciously new but, in contrast, the “fall out shelter” signs do not ....I would hazard to guess 1950s, possibly? ....which could have been when the architect did some of his own home DIY updates 

but interrupting my curiosity I suddenly notice an entire shelf of jars of clover honey and—beneath, an entire shelf of containers of powdered cacau—hmm .....but too hungry to care to process the meaning.... then see popcorn cornels and then, among this, notice other selections; rice, quinoa .... and it only begins slightly dimly to register that these items seem suspiciously hand-picked and as if tailored to my personal favorites: unsweetened sunflower seed butter.... wasabi.... ginger tea, almond milk.... but in the end, just opt for the trail mix, as it requires far less prep time. 

And then it is when I am halfway through a package of tortilla chips that I start to notice other interesting things ....as I walk through the mini grocer isles and, glad now, having had something to coat my stomach as I notice bottles of liquor; distillery indeed— as I notice now, Swedish imported vodka, of course.... “yeah, very funny, Jörn,” I say this out loud in irritation 

but then—

drinking alone — ? never good, I think to myself—and stop to consider ....

but then, I think the situation calls for it....

But, no glasses ....but do I care? and sit myself down on the concrete floor with one of the bottles

and after two and a half swigs .... maybe more, not sure exactly

appreciate the architecture of the ceiling and slide down to look up at it ....introspectively philosophical.... which, actually, in the end, allowed for the voice of reason —as I’d completely forgotten about my phone when I started to wonder again ....when it occurred to me ....that I wanted to look up how much this stuff cost by the volume? —and thought then of Google 

Although, find it is far harder to go back up the stairs then it was to go down, forcing slightly more sober thoughts to illuminate 

and when I reach the desk to grab my phone to find the email with the phone number to dial —before I even have to, my phone comes alive with an incoming call ....by the number 

Jörn’s email

 

Only, I must not be thinking right, I find this makes almost no sense to me ....and now sitting here in the chair staring at the screen I think I must have confused some words .... for awhile I cannot seem to sort it out.... maybe I must have misread the letters and seen the wrong words.... as my head is so cloudy it seems ever harder to focus and try to think through cottonball brain morass to decipher his meaning .... it seems he implies Jörn may be with him .... 

I drop my face into my hands and lean forward closing my eyes, what does this mean....?

Jörn is on a mission with him.... 

I think again about my dream of Amsterdam .... I think about the Dutch windmill builder who made the safe and wonder if these things are related 

I find in a quick instant I get lost in memories I’d not thought of for a long time during my years in the Netherlands ....such odd things .... like.... the time I’d mistakingly got caught in a violent crowd that turned out, to my misfortune, to be an anti-American demonstration, or when I would be followed by uniformed policemen and all the police would ever ask was if my father was working for the CIA, only, it was never really said like a question 

.... and the first time meeting Willem at the Dugout bar in The Hague when he told me he worked for Dutch intelligence and I didn’t believe him until he told me things about my family —my grandfather .....he could not otherwise have known and ..... so many other strange occurrences during the years I was there. It was the Cold War back then 

but.... why does it feel there is something I am missing about this.... something I knew ....some things I knew ....

and like those other things forgotten .... like where those crumbs were leading away from 

With sudden urgency I search back for Jörn’s emails and find the ten he sent. Willem said instructions .... 

I find the first one he sent:

Duva—    

When you charge your phone call the number below, it is a secure line.

Stay where you are.

I’m going to send you some useful and important information about the bunker such as where you will find food and supplies. My following emails will have a map of each tunnel and where they lead and the things I need you to do.

There is a phone charger in the mini bar drawer

Call the number when it’s charged

—J

   ....I read it a few times as its meanings gradually takes hold. 

I get up from the chair and find my dead phone on the desk by the invoices of the last orders I’d done, where it’s been since I got down here. 

I go to the ‘mini bar’ with its unassuming factory chrome and bolts that blend with the cage decor that I hardly ever noticed it before camouflaged as it is

I find the phone charger buried among some interesting and very old looking tools but waste no time plugging my phone in and then remember what he said about food and go back to the emails 

Willem’s reply; e.d/noir

 

I find Willem’s reply buried between spam and almost scroll right past it

He writes:

I was surprised to see your email as we were not sure if there was a problem with the internet. 

Let me assume your reference of a mutual acquaintance is who I think and say that he has been just as concerned you have not followed the instructions in his emails to you. He has been detained.

If you have been concerned—the number is a safe line to call. 

Please remain where you are, don’t be creative,

Wil

he comes to me in dream (e.d., muse/noir/jmchronicles)

 

“can you give me sanctuary

I must find a place to hide

a place for me to hide

can you find me soft asylum

I can't make it anymore

the man is at the door....”

 —the Soft Parade ‘Doors’ song lyrics by Jim Morrison 

and I guess it is about meaning and life’s meaning 

what all philosophers and poets search to find and while the philosopher may need to have answers, 

well, for the poet ....like the artist, it is about another quest 

that it should follow me here to my dungeon .... in my search for higher knowledge and purification on a project begun long, long ago even begun before ever leaving the step of my high school

but now, it seems I’m lost, and with it any belief and faith there is any point to what I do or ever believed and have fallen into a pit

dictionary, these writings on the wall 

never have I felt so empty 

***

it must be so long resisting sleep, it seems I sink deeper into subconsciousness and deeper under into ....like here, within my corner of the world to hide in a separate peace 

in exhausted sleep in dream.... 

I see the hut and I am there again.... how many nights of this memory have I dreamed? the smeden and the forge, his back bare and slick ....in dream have seen replayed to me; have stared and watched .... watched the muscles of his back and how they hypnotize.... his fingers, their skill.... the way he moves ....his rhythm and timing as he hammers the blade, the force of the sound that he makes as the metal hits, the gold of his hair alive in the light of the forge 

and the shapes of the shadows on the wall ....

until what seems peaceful, steady, un-quiet becomes the silent forbidding dread when a shadow falls across the threshold that swings an ax with a bloodcurdling battle cry 

It is when in my dream I hear, 

“duva!” and suddenly wake up 

and sit bolt upright

 —but— upon waking.... realizing he’s not there 

....then, become aware that I feel exhausted and unwell and— as I attempt it, find it difficult to stand up, as, somehow I feel more exhausted now then before .... and wonder again, still confused, how many days has it been.... ? —so long preoccupied with anxiety and pacing the perimeter of the dungeon floor —but now suddenly, painfully, my stomach starts to growl as I manage to finally get up from the cardboard ‘bed’. The room starts to spin around me; I take a moment and grip the staircase above to steady me and then manage to stumble to the cage to ....check for emails